Failure to Excommunicate
by knick-knack-15
Summary: They were a distorted version of the words, 'best friends'. But starry eyes and hazy opinions could change it all. With the flash of the camera true personalities are shown, true friends are determined, and a deception so manipulating... Troypay.


**I'm doing that _thing _again.**

**That thing where I totally add to the assload of stuff I already have on here.**

**Shame on me.**

**Somebody spank me, I need to be put in my place.**

He stumbled up the winding stairs hoping to get to his bedroom before tears would spring into his eyes. She followed close behind, trying desperately to reach him. His trembling hands fumbled with the brass knob of his bedroom door, and she was advancing quickly. 

A slammed door, pounding fists. 

"Troy!" 

"Blake, just go home." 

"_Troy_!" 

"I'm serious, I just want to be left alone!" 

Out of the frustration and anger that made her bristle, her small fist almost cracked the wood of his polished bedroom door once more. Before she could stop herself, words that she thought she would always keep to herself flew out of her flawless mouth. "Why don't you talk to me anymore? Why don't you _trust_ in me like you used to?" 

She shook out of anger. The silence seemed to tease her. 

"_Troy. Bolton_." she hissed, trying the doorknob. "**_Why?!_**" 

****

"Because." his short answer seeped through their barrier. She drew to her knees, pressing her ear to the crack in the door, hungry for his explanation. She pushed. 

"Because why?" 

"Because." his whisper was so intense, she could feel him on the other side of the door, lips jammed against the door's crevice, telling her exactly why he seemed so distant. "Because. You look exactly like her." he stated. She blonde brows sewed together in not confusion, but concern. 

"Who her? _Her _her?" 

He was silent. 

"Troy, what's happened?" she sounded so desperate, it pained him. "You know I just want to help. You need to let me in." the atmosphere seemed to have settled, almost as if he was considering letting her into the room. "We're cradle to grave, remember?" But suddenly, temperatures spiked again. His heat almost engulfed the door in flames. 

"You can't say that! Who the hell do you think you are? _Her_?!" 

"I'm sorry!" she blurted, scrambling to get back to that state of peace that radiated between her and her closest friend. "But please... Troy... open the door. We really need to talk." 

A not-so-painful silence. 

The brass knob twisted. The door gave way. 

A story began. 

**_:Flashback:_**

****

"I found this in my bathroom this morning." A playful sneer held Sharpay Evans' features captive. She slammed an anonymous object onto Troy Bolton's desk, waiting for his reaction. She scoffed and rolled her eyes, seeing the grin on his face. "You used my razor!" she hissed. "That thing cost six dollars, Troy!" 

He inspected the pink razor between his fingers closely, noticing the small, but coarse brown hairs stuffed between its four silver blades. Yes, he had. But just to push her buttons a little more, he stated, "Prove it." Before he could stop her, Sharpay snatched for his flawless face, grasping his chin in her manicured hands. "Aww... chumm on Charrpay, people are staringg..." he slurred, due to his cheeks being squashed together and his jaw clamped in her palm. 

Sharpay ignored the snickers of their classmates and let go of his face. "You're stubble-free." she informed him, and he unconsciously guided his hand across his smooth jaw, courtesy of Sharpay's Schick Quattro. He stifled that laugh that fought to rise out of his freshly-shaven throat. 

"Look, Shar, that was the only razor in your bathroom." 

"You should have asked Ryan." 

"I could've, but you know how much I love to annoy you." he flashed his innocent, mind-boggling smile, his eyes glimmering with that God given 'what-did-I-do-wrong' sort of magic. "By the way, my mom told me to thank you for letting me spend the night... again..." 

"...for the _second _time this week." Sharpay added. "Tell her I said you're welcome. And thank her in advance for lending you the money to go with me to the mall today to buy me a new razor." she smiled soundly, turning away from Troy's desk just as the morning bell rang. 

Troy's face fell. "Wha-what?! Shar! That's not fair!" 

"Life's not fair, basketball boy." 

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You could call them best friends. They were a mashed-up, mutilated, manipulated, distorted version of the word, but best friends nonetheless. She was always there to talk to, he was always there for a laugh. Yes, they argued, yes, they shouted and threw things, but it was times like these that they lived for. His funny jabs, her vibrant giggle. 

"My dad's going to murder me if he knew I skipped practice to go _shopping_...with _you_." 

"Well, you should have thought about that _before _using my razor to shave. My fingers smelled like Old Spice after touching that thing." Sharpay wrinkled her nose as they slowly strolled down an aisle of the general store in the mall. Numerous brands of blades and razors stared back, and Troy couldn't understand what was so difficult about choosing one. 

"Ugh!" Sharpay sighed easing her hand through her blonde locks. "They upped the price another two dollars." she suddenly looked to Troy and gave a sweet smile. "Good thing you're paying, huh, Bolton?" 

Troy scoffed as he snatched Sharpay's wanted possession off of the aisle shelf and travelled back up the aisle, his friend right at his heels. Just as he took a sharp turn towards the checkout line, he collided with the oncomer swerving around the same corner. She let out a small squeal as all of her items fell out of her arms, scattering across the tiles of the store. "Sorry." Troy immediately apologized, kneeling on the floor to gather medications, moisturizer, the same damned razor that Sharpay had pushed him to buy. 

"It's okay." Troy peered up to the warm smile of a woman who looked to be about in her 30s. The skin around her steel grey eyes crinkled as she grinned, extending a hand to help Troy up. "Only a real man uses a womens' razor." Troy's cheeks turned red and he was too embarrassed to even notice Sharpay burst into laughter behind him. 

But he quickly changed the subject, sliding the anonymous index card that had fallen to the floor back into her hand. "You dropped this as well." But she pushed it back into his palm. 

"Keep it." she insisted, backing away. "My agency is having casting auditions for a national commercial at the civic center next Wednesday? They could never turn down a handsome boy like you." She smiled her warm smile once more before taking off. 

"What is it?" Sharpay asked, snatching the card out of his hand, her brown eyes scanning the tiny black text. "An _agent_?" she asked incredulously. "_You _got an agent before _me?_" she shoved the index card back into his chest. She fell silent, watching her friend cock his head to the side in confusion. 

"Beverly Marshall..." he muttered as they shuffled to the checkout line, quickly paying for Sharpay's razor. On the way to his car, he stuffed the card into his pocket, hoping to soften the hard gaze Sharpay was giving him. She hadn't spoken a word during their trek across the mall, not even a small plea to go into Lacoste. Something was most definitely bothering her. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

It was beginning to rain. 

They sat silently in his car in Sharpay's driveway, the soft pitter-patter the only noise that rattled the still atmosphere. She looked out the window, onto her front lawn, afraid to look back at Troy. She drew her thumb to her teeth and harshly, nervously bit down on her French tipped nail. 

"Shar!" Troy snatched her hand away from her face, squeezing it tightly. 

"What?!" she exclaimed, surprised at his sudden outburst. 

"You stopped biting your nails when you were nine. Don't start again." 

She sighed, knowing that he was right. If she started again, she would never be able to quit. But the thought of Troy Bolton becoming famous before her made her want to bite. The thought of her being forgotten made her want to bite. The thought of actually losing him made her want to bite... 

He still held her hand. He noticed a red band of worn cotton around her wrist and smiled. Their friendship bracelets were made of the fabric of the sleeves of both of their favorite shirts. While Troy had hastily snipped off an inch around the sleeve of the plain T-shirt he had that was signed by Michael Jordan himself, Sharpay had given him an inch of one of her lacy theater costumes. But hers was more personal. 

He looked to his wrist, the piece of pink lace tight against his skin. In meticulous black stitching, the words, _Crade to Grave _graced the fabric. 

"Are you okay with all of this?" he asked her, uncertainty burning in his eyes. Though she wasn't sure, since she was unable to make eye contact with him. 

"Of course." she insisted quickly, curling her fingers around the silver handle of the door. The rain had come harder, no longer a pitter-patter, but a heavy thundering against the roof. She hastily leaned over and hugged her best friend in an attempt to prove to him that she was okay. Sharpay drew away quickly, too quickly for Troy's taste. "Later." she said flatly and swung open the door, dashing into the rain. 

"Hey, Shar, wait! You forgot your razor!" 

And though she heard him loud and clear, even over the rolling thunder, she never turned back. 

**So.**

**I've seen Hairspray 3 times as of tonight.**

**I need a life.**

**But anyways, like I told you before, this is me adding on to my assload.**

**Review!**


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